Not Just Suicide
by DoctorStonegarden
Summary: By chance, DI Arthur Pendragon is sent by his father to the scene of an apparent suicide. The bizarre, brilliant, and bothersome young man he meets there will turn his life upside down. More than Arthur could have imagined.
1. Prologue

_**Prologue**_

_Once upon a time, many, many years ago, in a land of myth and a time of magic, the fate of a great kingdom rested on the shoulders of a young boy._

_Defeated__ by treachery that no-one could have predicted, he failed and the kingdom fell into darkness; but it did not fade away. Not entirely. It still remains, waiting to be saved, though no-one remembers and no-one comes._

_That is about to change…_

_For d__estiny cannot be thwarted as easily as the conquerors of that great kingdom would have believed._

_Rather than__ beating destiny outright, they had merely set back its master plan to a time far in the future, when the bodies of all who had fought for and against the kingdom would be dust._

_Now the fingers of fate are moving once more. _

_The board is __set and destiny's hand hovers over the pieces; the cards are shuffled; the coin spins in the air._

_The game is on, and things are different this time…_


	2. Dead People and Scruffy Shoes

DI Pendragon was not having a brilliant day. But then, any police officer with the D prefix rarely does.

A veritable mountain of paperwork loomed up from the depths of his In tray, casting a shadow over his desk and his mind.

The hangover wasn't helping.

Why, just _why_ could he not leave the whiskey in the cupboard for once?

Secretly, Arthur wished he had listened to his father when he said drink would be the death of him. Arthur snorted and banished the thought from his head.

Arthur had inherited his father's stubbornness. His love of good quality drink was the subject of many whispered jokes, as was his tenacity; it was said that as soon as Arthur's father died – probably of an apoplexy, the way things were these days – Arthur's liver would give out, having juddered along just long enough to spite his father.

Besides, Uther Pendragon himself wasn't exactly Saint Sobriety; at a recent Christmas office party Uther had become positively sozzled on the cheap rosé, and much to Arthur's chagrin, began loudly recounting the most embarrassing tales of Arthur's boisterous childhood. Arthur's chagrin was further stoked when Uther removed his shirt and danced to a rendition of Rudolf The Red-Nosed Reindeer performed by an impromptu choir of inebriated junior officers.

Arthur's chagrin was compounded when he realised that his father – approaching sixty – was quite the silver fox, having succeeded in turning the heads of every woman in the room.

Uther blamed the entire debacle on the wine reacting with his ulcer tablets.

Anyone who mentioned the incident was transferred to the Archive and Records Department.

No-one wanted to spend their career penpushing in an airless room with filing cabinets for company; Uther was legendarily cruel in his pursuit of running a tight ship, and threats to be sent to Archive and Records went a long way to keeping everyone in line, whether he wanted them to work harder or just cover up the fact he drank too much and danced on a table at Christmas.

It had to be said, Arthur was hardly a picture of innocence himself, though it also had to be said some of it was Uther's fault.

He had always been a distant father, utterly absorbed in his work. After ten years of marriage, Arthur's mother gave birth to him, had window-shattering arguments with Uther about working too much and letting Arthur grow up without a father, and then filed for a long, messy divorce when Arthur was three. She left as soon as it was done, and Arthur had not seen her since. Uther never mentioned her, but his eyes always misted over when they rested on the small photo of her that rested on his desk, taken when they were newly married and madly in love.

He hid the photo beneath his keyboard whenever anyone came in.

Things had gotten a little better when Uther adopted Morgana when Arthur was four, but still…

His father was a cold, hard, professional, and tenacious man who had been part of the police his entire working life. In forty years he had risen to being the Commissioner of Camelot's Metropolitan Police, and his son had followed in his footsteps, seeking approval at every step. Approval that he rarely got. Uther loved his son, but he was too busy to show it most of the time.

Arthur was similarly tenacious and professional, but rather than being cold he was something of a bully in and out of work, used to getting his own way. His ability to coax a reaction from anyone and intimidate anybody sometimes came in useful on the crime scene, but could he say he really had any friends? He had plenty of hangers on hoping for a good word from Arthur to his father, and Arthur was a bit of a sex god.

"Girls love men in uniforms," he joked, "but that fact that I'm a plain-clothes detective doesn't stop them from jumping on me."

Arthur's reveries were cut short when he realised he'd spent five minutes thinking about his father's Christmas incident.

Wearily, the detective reached for the first sheet on the monumental stack residing in his In Tray, when his day got worse.

His phone, resting on the desk next to his pen, suddenly rang.

The screen told him it was his father.

Wondering what, precisely, his father was going to reprimand him for now, Arthur hesitantly picked up the phone and accepted the call.

"Yes, father, I am doing something about all that pape-"  
>"Arthur, you need to go down and help Lestrade. He has a suicide."<br>"There are lots of suicides, father."  
>"I know, son," Uther replied testily, "but this one is messy. Everyone else is occupied cleaning up the S-187 from this morning, and he needs someone to help seal off the area. He can't hold back a curious crowd with just Leon."<p>

"Speaking of that attack this morning, how bad is over there?"  
>Uther sighed wearily.<p>

"I can hardly believe my eyes. I haven't seen anything like this since the Harrods attack in '83. Just call Lestrade and tell him you're coming down to help, he'll tell you where to go."

"Fine."

X

Arthur recognised Lestrade's immaculate Audi parked outside an alleyway beside a squad car. The alleyway, a dark aperture into the unknown shadowed by the gently leaning buildings, led into the warren of the Old Town.

_Why does everything bad have to happen in the Old Town?_ Arthur grumbled in his mind as he climbed out of the taxi and walked over to the white and blue police tape, rippling in the late evening breeze.

Of course, not everything happened in the Old Town. It was simply that the Old Town was the largest old part of town in any city in the world; it stretched from the ancient castle, perched atop a crag like a majestic eagle, and spread for at least fifty miles of townhouses and theatres and public buildings and parks and squares no newer than 1940.

Were it not for the tourists and the swank cafes, you could be forgiven for thinking that you were in the Middle Ages should you ever visit the square mile or so of timber framed houses around the castle. It was said that in Camelot, nothing was ever knocked down.

Arthur supposed part of the appeal for ne'r-do-wells was the atmosphere. The Old Town simply felt ancient, like there was something there that stopped it from being dragged into the modern day. Arthur never quite understood why the atmosphere of the Old Town seemed to be conducive to murder, but it just was. He didn't have to like it, just button it and solve crime.

X

The woman was dead, that much was certain. From the exquisitely sharp kitten heels that graced her feet to her tumbling chocolate curls, there was not a twitch. Bullet wounds to the head do that to you.

"So… it's definitely a suicide, then?" asked Leon, bending over the body next to Arthur.

The woman had been in her late thirties to early forties. She was slim and quite petite, but Arthur couldn't vouch for how facially attractive she had been, for a great deal of her face was missing.

She had collapsed backwards, and a small Beretta handgun lay by her thigh.

"Of course it is, Leon! She's lying in an alleyway with her face blown off with a gun next to her. That would mark it out as a suicide, don't you think?"  
>Leon muttered something and went to join Lestrade and the constables standing by the tape. Arthur was still cranky from his hangover despite sobering up slightly at the sight of the dead woman and the chill of the evening. The fact that his presence there was unnecessary due to the swift arrival of some constables before him, which had resolved the curious crowd issue, made him feel like it was a waste of time.<p>

Leon was a little stung by Arthur's tone; Arthur himself barely registered the reprimand, so used was he to making a fool out of anyone.

Arthur himself was about to get up join them himself when he suddenly noticed a pair of scruffy Dr. Martens Oxford shoes beside what was left of the woman's head.


	3. Donovan Is Wearing Your Cologne As Well

Arthur stared at the shoes for a moment. He certainly didn't recognise them; no-one he knew would allow their shoes to be as scuffed and dirty as that.

Arthur's head snapped up to see a young man connected to the offending feet.

Arthur quickly sprang to his feet and addressed the young man in his customary superior tone.

"This is a crime scene, you need to leave."

Arthur was aware of Lestrade saying something that he was probably supposed to pay attention to, but he didn't hear it. When the stranger didn't respond, Arthur took a step back and folded his arms, using the time to size the man up.

A pair of black corduroy trousers equally as scruffy as the Oxford shoes were in evidence. Arthur at first thought the shirt, deep blue in colour, was tucked into his trousers so forcefully that it had no wrinkles and hung off him completely straight. Noticing that only a tiny part of the shirt was tucked in, Arthur realised that the young man was just thin. The kind of thin the average male model would kill for. An ancient brown canvas trenchcoat protected the stranger against the cold of the evening. The only part of his attire that looked remotely new and clean was a red paisley silk scarf tucked into the blue shirt, the top two buttons undone with the collar carelessly splayed open.

He still said nothing. "Are you stupid or something?"

The stranger stepped around the woman's body, and Arthur was able to see his face clearly. He was obviously young; probably in his early twenties, no older than Arthur.

He was almost painfully thin; prominent cheekbones so sharp Arthur briefly entertained a fantasy of taking out a pound note and seeing if it would slice in half on them; raven hair, cut short but uncombed, framed the angular, milk-white face. A full, rose-shaped mouth was drawn back in an irritating, I-know-something-that-you-don't grin.

Arthur was about to say something to Lestrade when something caught his eye.

_Those ears_…

"Hello?" Arthur said, dripping with condescension "Can you hear me with those great big things on the side of your head?"

Dark brows dipped together over a straight, white nose.

"That wasn't a very nice thing to say to Leon." The stranger's mouth emitted an agreeable tenor, and Arthur thought he detected the faintest hint of an Irish brogue.

Arthur forgot to tell the young man that he had answered back to a police officer and retorted immediately, stepping forward, right into his antagonist's face.

"It's not my fault if he's an idiot for not seeing that right away that this is obviously a suicide!"  
>The stranger smirked.<p>

"Only a prat would think this is a suicide."  
>Lestrade noticed the imminent argument, sighed, and began to stride over.<p>

"Arthur!" The deadbeat DI called over.

Arthur ignored him.

"What did you call me?" Arthur barely noted that he was almost shouting.

"I prat, I think."  
>That did it. Arthur began to fumble for his handcuffs as Lestrade reached the two, intent on stopping the argument.<p>

Despite his years of experience and carefully built up self control, Lestrade couldn't help but chuckle as Arthur's opponent held up his handcuffs with a triumphant expression as though he had been helping Arthur to look for them.

"They're right here, you clodpole."  
>Arthur growled and snatched them away, grabbing his antagoniser's wrists. Lestrade chose that moment to intervene.<p>

"Woah, woah. S'okay, Arthur, he's with us, sort of."  
>Arthur looked dumbfounded for a second.<p>

"You can let go of my arm, dollop head."

Arthur drew back his fist.

"Arthur! He's helping us. Merlin! Stop… doing what you do."

_Merlin__... what kind of name was that?_

Out of a surge of politeness which probably had more to do with getting the satisfaction of being the better man than an effort at reconciliation, Arthur extended a hand.

Merlin folded his hands behind his back, gave a ridiculous, goofy grin and spun sharply around to take a look at the crime scene.

"Who the hell is he?" Arthur hissed angrily at Lestrade.

The older detective puffed out his cheeks and put his hands upon his hips.

"Where do I begin? I use him as a kinda consultant. Doesn't ask to be paid or anything. He's particularly good with murders."  
>Arthur watched as Merlin stared at the body for a couple of seconds, then set off a little further into the alleyway, bending over until his face was practically touching the floor. Every so often, he shuffled forwards, until he came to a small heap of almost bursting rubbish bags.<p>

"What's so special about him? He's just shoving his face into the floor."  
>Lestrade breathed in, and continued.<p>

"Yeah, it looks like he's just shoving 'is face in everything, but what looks irrelevant to the likes of me an' you is a piece of the jigsaw to him. He joins dots we'd never even think to look for, makes it look easy."

"So why is here for a suicide?"

Merlin had now withdrawn a huge torch from his coat and made a bounding leap to the top of a closed dumpster, lying down and surveying the pile of garbage with the torch, then turned his attention to a bricked-up doorway that formed a recess in the wall.

Lestrade shrugged in response to Arthur's question.

"I didn't call him. If he's here then that probably means it's a murder. Sometimes he just shows up without bein' asked and blows our theories out of the water."

Merlin's whole upper body was now hanging down over the bin, going over the recess in the wall and the bin bags again and again.

"Is he always so… rude and insolent?"  
>Lestrade barked with laughter.<p>

"Nah, just to people he doesn't like."  
>"Cheers."<br>"Seriously, 'e's a bit of a funny one. He's polite as anything as long you don't act like a prat. Then he'll figure out you're having an affair or something and tell everyone. You can't hide anything from 'im, but be'ave yourself and he'll leave y'alone."

Arthur snorted. How could anyone tell someone was having an affair just by looking them over once?

"Ah. Here's your father."  
>Arthur's father climbed from the back of his chauffeured Range Rover and stood aside to let someone else out.<p>

A woman, tall, dark haired and soberly dressed woman in a navy blue midi skirt and jacket stepped out.

"And Morgana." Arthur added, the sight of his stepsister warming him a little after the spat with Merlin, who was now standing motionless next to the body of the woman.

Another car pulled up next to Uther's. A dark haired man with a weak chin and a large nose got out of the driver's seat and a frizzy-haired woman with café au lait skin and freckles exited by the other door.

Arthur recognised them as Anderson and Donovan respectively, from Forensics. Uther was taking a drink from a bottle of water but threw it back in the car as Anderson and Donovan approached.

Anderson's expression morphed into a sneer as he saw Merlin. Donovan followed suit with a cold stare and folded arms.

Merlin immediately affected a goofy smile and began rocking on his heels again.

Donovan tutted.

"Why'd you have to get the Freak in on this, Lestrade, it's just a suicide."  
>Merlin's smile became slightly smug. As the Commissioner and Morgana approached, he snapped his head to Anderson, and innocently asked,<p>

"How's the painting going in your flat, Anderson?"  
>Anderson's sneer became a look of complete miscomprehension.<p>

"I imagine it's going quite well, seeing as Donovan's been helping you." He added innocently, switching his gaze to Donovan, "Though I can't say why you need to be up right up against the wall with your tights round your knees to paint a wall."

Arthur ignored Lestrade's pointed stare as he glanced at Donovan's tights, which were _very_ wrinkled from the shins upwards and covered with tiny flecks of white paint. Arthur suppressed his disbelief.

Anderson found his voice.

"That's nonsense, Freak."

"Donovan normally wears Chanel No. 5 rather than Hugo Boss Just Different. Which is your favourite cologne, I think." Merlin shot back innocently.

Uther and Morgana were staring open-mouthed at Merlin.

"Ah! Commissioner Pendragon! How's the ulcer?"

Lestrade clapped his hands together, making Anderson and Donovan jump.

"Right! Merlin, whadda you got for us?"

Merlin said nothing, and then began to speak.

"This wasn't a suicide."  
>Anderson opened his mouth to object, as did Arthur, but Merlin cut them off.<p>

"The victim was right handed, she was shot in the left side of the head, from -" Merlin pointed to the left side of the alley entrance "- there. Look at how more of that part of the head is missing, less so the right."

This time Donovan moved to interject but Merlin talked right over her.

"The gun is on her right side, she would have had to twist her arm all the way round. And in any case, the gun there can't be the weapon used. It can't be any more than a .22. Not powerful enough to do that."  
>Merlin dropped to the floor and squinted at the gun.<p>

"Chrome finish. Pearl handle. Expensive. Excellent quality. Why would she spend ten thousand dollars on something to kill herself with?"

Merlin sprang up again, and paused.  
>"If things had been a bit different there would be another person lying dead here today."<br>The assembled detectives looked at him quizzically. Lestrade was smirking slightly.

"Over there. The rubbish bags show signs of puncturing. Her left heel has a bit of orange peel stuck to it. The other one has a bit of lettuce on it."  
>Anderson and Donovan shook their heads and scowled. Uther looked genuinely interested and crouched to examine the deceased's heels; sure enough, there was a bit of lettuce and orange peel.<br>"She can't have gone far from where she was walking through rubbish; those scraps would have fallen off."  
>Merlin suddenly spun around and shone his torch on the recess between the dumpsters.<p>

"She walked on the bags to get into there, and she was there quite some time."  
>Uther frowned and walked over, carefully treading on the bags and staring down into the recess. It was deep enough to hide one person comfortably; and more interestingly, by the light of Merlin's torch, Uther saw exactly what Merlin was going on about.<p>

"There are cigarette ends here…"

"Yes!" Merlin said, smiling.

"Arthur!" The man in question scowled. "Would you be so kind as to reach into her left inside pocket and tell us what you find?"  
>Arthur scowled even more deeply, but did as he was bid.<p>

Arthur didn't relish the idea of going inside the stylish, smart jacket that he could easily imagine hanging in Morgana's wardrobe to find what only Merlin probably knew was there. The flesh on his fingers crawled at the close contact with the dead woman.

Arthur's reluctant hand closed around a small cardboard box.

"Chat Noir cigarettes and a lighter?" Merlin inquired before Arthur had even withdrawn his hand.

Arthur's scowl deepened to previously unheard of levels when he saw that Merlin was right.

"She was a heavy smoker. At least sixty a day. Look at the hands and what's left of her teeth. I guarantee you'll find a preserved mammoth or something in her lungs."

Arthur couldn't help but be annoyed by Morgana's slight smile at Merlin's positively feeble attempt at humour.

Merlin snapped on a pair of surgical gloves. He reached down and plucked a purse from the right inside pocket and snatched the box of cigarettes from Arthur. Glancing inside the box and then extracting a few receipts, he briefly perused the other compartments.

"She kept her cigarettes closer than her money. In the _left_ inside pocket, so she could get to them with her _right_ hand." Merlin intoned as her studied the four receipts.

There was silence for a second as Merlin scrutinised the little pieces of paper.

Uther's brows creased. Who was this boy? He wasn't a detective, that was for certain. No detective would let his shoes get that scruffy.

Arthur noted his father's curiosity with disdain.

"She was waiting here at least six hours. Is there a shop called Finnegan's Tobacco around here?"  
>"Right-" Lestrade began.<p>

"-across the square." Merlin finished. "Her craving got the better of her professionalism. She went in before she staked out the location, to check if they had her favourite cigarettes. If we assume that she has one cigarette every ten minutes, minus the two that are left in the pack, she was there at least six hours if we count add minutes for three trips to the shop –" Merlin proffered the receipts for examination. "- and fifteen for a lunch break."

Merlin opened the purse.  
>"If you add the cost of three packs of expensive cigarettes, and a sandwich and Coke," Merlin held forth the last receipt, "That makes a thousand pounds. All in crisp, new twenties, probably expense money."<p>

Uther stroked his chin.

"Are you are saying she was an… assassin?"

Merlin smiled, and said nothing.

"If Your Majesty would be so kind as to remove her left shoe…"

_How did this irritating, emaciated, scruffy bastard find out about my father's nickname?_  
>Uther seemed to be wondering the same thing as his son.<p>

Nonetheless, the Commissioner crouched and removed the woman's left heel.

"What am I looking at?"

"The heel of her foot."

Uther tilted the woman's foot upwards and jerked his head back slightly in astonishment.

Everyone but Merlin bent for a closer look.

Tattooed upon the woman's heel was a black circle, broken by two dots of flesh, like eyes.

Everyone but Uther and Merlin looked nonplussed.

"The Dark Visage. Mark of a group of assassins specialising in small hits for people like drug barons. Say hello to Nikita Ortska, known as Miss Phlegm due to her legendary smoker's cough. It was said if you hear someone coughing behind you, you were a dead man. Of course, now that _she's_ dead…"

There was uneasy silence for a few minutes. Arthur would have punched Merlin were it not for his father's evident impressed-ness.

Anderson and Donovan looked miserable, having been bested by the scruffy young man.

Morgana was smiling, as was Lestrade, who looked almost proud.

Uther simply looked shocked.

"I don't believe we've met." He finally said, meeting Merlin's eyes, and extending a hand.

"Ambrosius. Merlin Ambrosius. Lestrade consults me whenever he's stumped." He said, shaking Uther's hand and grinning at Lestrade.

Uther smiled mildly, then his eyes hardened as though he had made a decision.

"So this is definitely a murder?"

"I'd say killing in self-defence, so maybe manslaughter. Definitely possession of a firearm."

Donovan, thinking of a way to get back at Merlin, posed a question none of them had yet thought to answer.

"Okay, so it's not a suicide, but I'd like to see you work out who the killer is and why he's got an assassin after him."  
>Merlin smiled again.<br>Arthur indulged in fantasies involving Merlin's face and a belt sander.  
><em>I'd like to see him grin with his face peeling off…<em>

To everyone's surprise, Merlin spun around and kicked the enormous steel dumpster next to the recess.

Their surprise was compounded when he added, "Ask him yourself."

Muffled screams could be heard from the depths.

Merlin dragged the lid open, to reveal a sweaty young man in a woolly hat and a filthy tracksuit, waving a gun in the air.

Arthur blinked; suddenly he was lying on the ground next to his father, with Merlin standing between them.

The man in the bin cursed and fired.


	4. There's Something About You, Merlin

_**A/N; **__**NotQuiteBerserk**__: I __**am **__aware that the lowest denomination of notes in pound sterling is the five pound note. I am British, after all. But saying 'five' or 'ten' or 'twenty' pound note felt unwieldy.  
>However, I appreciate the comments of a fellow pedant, so I will alter the offending sentence for clarity at some point in the future.<br>Thank you for your input.  
><em>_**Anonymous Users 'bby' and 'un'**__: The idea is that first time round in the TV series we all know and love, someone – not necessarily Merlin himself – screwed up and everything went to pieces. Without being spoileriffic, all I can say is that someone will show up eventually and explain things a tad more clearly. That includes the issue of magic.  
>Yes. Scarves are cute. <em>

Merlin ducked in the knickers of time; the bullet sparked off the brick wall of the alleyway; Leon and the constables watching the tape spun around.

Arthur swore and reached for his handcuffs, only to find they were in Merlin's hand.

Well, around the wrist of the shooter, now. Merlin flicked open the revolver's chamber and emptied the cartridges onto the ground with a tinkle.

The shooter stared at the pale, weedy, goofy youngster who had disarmed him and cuffed him to a bin faster than you could say 'elementary'.

Merlin shot him a grin and helped Arthur and his father to their feet, with the aid of Morgana, who shot the boy a smile.

Uther waved off Leon and the constables.

"It seems that… Mr. Ambrosius has everything under control."

Arthur again lapsed into fantasy, this time involving a vice, a circular saw, and Merlin's ears.

Merlin squinted at the far wall.

"That wasn't necessary really, that shoving. The bullet would have gone through the gap between your heads… better safe than sorry!"

With another insufferable grin and a rock on his heels, Merlin performed another insufferable spin and leant on the bin beside the shooter.

"Hi." He extended a hand. The sweaty shooter took it with some awkwardness, chained effectively to a bin. "I'm Merlin."

"Uh…"  
>"Was it the right arm or the left?"<p>

"Uh…"

Merlin glanced at his right arm. The upper sleeve was torn, and soaked with blood.

"It's a flesh wound. But it bled enough to leave a trace on that wall you probably leaned on, and the bin when you opened it."

Merlin leapt back to the small crowd watching him; he clapped his hands together.

"So, I'm guessing that our shooter over there heard our assassin's legendary smoker's cough, which gave her away. He had some time to get his gun out, but she heard him coming as well. She, however, had to climb over those rubbish bags to get a shot; she got one shot off, which obviously wasn't fatal, but before she could get a clear shot, he got her. Lestrade was in the next street over, of course. The shooter was injured and terrified, so he jumped in the bin. It's simple, really."  
>Even Arthur had to admit he was impressed.<br>The shooter cursed under his breath.

Donovan and Anderson admitted defeat and went to order a clean up crew.

Lestrade patted Merlin fatherly on the back. Merlin just looked a little sheepish.

Arthur sniffed as Uther shook Merlin's hand again as he turned to leave.

"You saved my life and my son's. Thank you. And you caught us an assassin and her would-be victim. Have you ever thought about becoming a detective?"  
>"Lestrade knows where to find me if there's an impossible case in need of cracking.<p>

Uther smiled, and turned to Lestrade.

"I'd hate to deprive you of your secret weapon, Lestrade, but he _is _a civilian and I can't just let anyone into a crime scene. And, Merlin, I don't expect to see you around something like this again."

Uther nodded to his son. Arthur waved perfunctorily as his father and his stepsister drove away.

"Well…" Lestrade puffed out his cheeks. "There goes the Commissioner. And my arrest record, now that you're not allowed within sight of the blues n' twos."

Merlin smirked. "Anything's possible; some things are just less probable than others. You haven't gotten rid of me yet, Lestrade."

Lestrade noted Arthur's disbelief. "Impressive, eh?"

Arthur simply shook his head. "I don't think there's a word for it..."

"Incommensurable?" Merlin ventured.

"You made that up!"

"Did not."  
>"Yes, you did!"<br>"No, I didn't!"  
>"You did!<br>"Didn't!"

"Did!"  
>Lestrade stepped between them. "Okay, boys, pack it in." Then he turned to Merlin. "There's somethin' you aren't telling me, Merlin."<p>

A touch of colour rose to Merlin's alabaster cheekbones. He glanced nervously at Arthur.  
>"I couldn't exactly say it in front of the <em>Commissioner<em>."

Lestrade's eyebrows would have disappeared into his greying hairline had the terminal point of said follicles not been so distant.

"So you're sayin'…"  
>Merlin glanced at Arthur nervously, fidgeting, completely unlike the cool and deductive Merlin who had destroyed the 'just another suicide' angle.<p>

Arthur fired a curious look at Lestrade, who ignored it.

"Yes," Merlin finished, "there was a magical element involved."

He turned back to the shooter, and plunged a hand down his filthy hoodie. Merlin frowned, Lestrade and Arthur frowned, and the shooter looked shocked.

Merlin's hand closed around something, and with a final yank and a desperate cry from the shooter, retrieved the crystal from where it hung on a string around his neck.

The shooter spat a string of incoherent curses at Merlin, who examined the faintly glowing orange thing.

"Ah… she shot you but you were able to freeze her in place and shoot her head off… lucky shot, Jimmy."  
>"Er…"<p>

Merlin rolled his eyes. "I used to work in a café with him, Lestrade."

"We have to tell my father." Arthur said resolutely, folding his arms.

"Arthur, it was in self-defence."

"That changes nothing, he used magic illegally."

"It changes everything, Arthur!" Merlin hissed, seething. "He'll get life in Azkaban!" Azkaban being the nickname for Aban Prison, a maximum security jail for exclusively magical felons. "Do you have any idea how bad it is in there?"  
>"Yes, Merlin, I do, because I've been there. My father sent most of the people in there to Aban in the first place."<p>

"For practicing a little magic?"

"The law is the law."

"Does your father make the law? As I recall he was the one that called for magic to be severely controlled in the first place?"  
>Lestrade threw up his hands helplessly, and waited for them to end.<p>

Thus began the first of many notorious shouting matches between DI Arthur Pendragon and Merlin Ambrosius.

Leon and the constables whistled and did a masterful job of pretending not to notice the broiling debate on the points of magical governing law going on not ten metres behind them.

It took all of Lestrade's carefully cultivated detective's patience to not grab the dead assassin's pack of cigarettes and finish them off.

It had been a long night.

**X**

"Shut up, Merlin!"

"If you would only take a look at yourself, _your pratness_, you might realise I'm going easy on you!"

"Pah! You're so flawed I don't even know where to begin."  
>"Go on then."<p>

Arthur hesitated, clutching at straws; Merlin standing up to him was hardly a flaw; his bravery was commendable, really. But there was one more thing he could try and shove in his opponent's face…

"Well, you haven't figured out why this 'Miss Phlegm' was after that guy, Jimmy or whatever."

Merlin snorted. "Jimmy owes someone money. I said it before, the Dark Visage specialise in bumping off people who don't pay their debts as an example to anyone else."

"That's not conclusive proof!"  
>Lestrade thought that was enough.<p>

"Oi! _That's enough!_"

He turned, exasperated, to Jimmy, who had been hauled from the bin and was now slumped against a wall dejectedly.

"Did you owe money to anyone, Jimmy?"

The lowlife grunted in the affirmative.

Merlin gave an infuriating grin, and spun on his heel, buttoning up his shabby coat and thrusting his hands deep into the pockets.

"You're the senior detective here, Lestrade, you deal with it, if DI Clodpole won't listen to me." He tossed Jimmy's crystal over to the greying DI.

A constable accosted Merlin; Arthur overheard the burly man saying something about wasting police time and not co-operating with the law.

"No, let him go."  
>Merlin looked as surprised as the constable.<p>

"There's something about you, Merlin… now go, before I _do_ get you arrested."

Merlin's mouth twitched.

The darkness of the little square swallowed up the unkempt amateur detective.

_**A/N;**__ I'm not terribly pleased with the flow of this chapter. It feels a little juddery to me. But that's maybe because I can see everything I write in my head._

_- Doc'_


	5. Manipulation

"Arthur, have you ever considered getting a flatmate?"

Arthur glanced up at his stepsister from the morning's papers. They were perched on stools in Morgana's kitchen, it being Monday, when Morgana and her stepbrother would eat breakfast together.

"I mean…" She continued, with a smile that could mean she was being evil, endearing, or was genuinely concerned, "It's been two months since you left Vivian-"  
>Arthur winced melodramatically.<p>

"-and you only ever leave your flat to go to work or to the pub with those pitiful excuses for friends."  
>Arthur began to object, but she cut him off.<p>

"Oh come_ on_ and admit it, Arthur, they like you because you could get them out of trouble!"

Arthur wouldn't admit it. Not in front of Morgana. But he _was_ lonely…

Morgana's eyes flashed with triumph as she saw her brother frown a little, which he always did when she was right. Which was always.

Arthur sighed and threw down the newspaper, stretching on the stool.

"Alright then, Morgsey, what do you suggest?"  
>"Well…" Morgana said, ignoring his use of that <em>horrible<em> pet name, for her long-term revenge would be sweeter than any argument she could win this morning, "Gaius's nephew is looking to move out from under his uncle's nose. Of course, Gaius doesn't mind having the boy around; from what I understand, it's quite the opposite. He's much more cheerful these days. Father was going to talk to you about it, actually."  
>Arthur attempted to ape the legendary eyebrow of the old doctor, Gaius, his father's oldest friend. Morgana chuckled at his attempt.<p>

"Father was going to talk to me about this?"  
>Morgana silenced herself, smoothing down the front of her trouser suit.<p>

"Yes, but not for the same reasons. _He'd _be doing a favour to old man Gaius, as he sees it. But really, brother, I just want what's best for you."

Arthur really should have seen what his sister was manipulating him into, but he was too focused on winning the sibling battle being fought between them.

"Oh, so he doesn't mind me hanging around with drunken bullies, but you do?"

"Yes, I do, and I think Gaius's nephew can steer you away from those bootlickers."

"Oh really?"  
>"You'll love him."<br>"What makes you think that?"

"Well, I only met him briefly. He's a bit of a bundle of contradictions, just like you, I suppose. He's a bit younger than you; Gaius is his _great_-uncle really, but he's a like a father to the lad. You'll love him!"

"I doubt he'll be able to match up to my _burgeoning_ intellect and incomparable biceps."  
>"Do you even know what that means?"<br>Arthur _did_ know. Morgana smiled inwardly; he was winning the morning's argument, but that only meant he was in a good mood, so he would at least go and look at the flat and meet Gaius's nephew.

She stood up from her chair, as if to go and fetch her handbag from the coffee table, but then stopped as if in thought. She was, in fact dropping the lure that would make Arthur

"Oh… I just remembered, the nephew got a special deal with the landlady. Something to do with helping her out with her granddaughter… but anyway, she's willing to rent the flat for less, but it's more than he can afford himself, poor boy. She might even sell it to him and whoever wants to share it in a few years. The paperwork's all but done; he just needs someone willing to split the rent with him."

Arthur considered this; Morgana knew, however, that he was in a good mood, her having let him win.

The fact he wouldn't have to do any paperwork was a clincher.  
>Arthur shoved the remains of his toast away, picked up his coat, and went to the door.<p>

"Oh, Morgana? What's the address of this flat you're so desperate for me to look at?"

Morgana was at that moment presented with the problem that all women suffer from at various moments in their lives; car keys gone AWOL in her handbag.

A few seconds later, she briefly paused rummaging to reply absentmindedly.

"It's just below Gaius's surgery actually… 221b Baker Street." 

**X**

Stepping from his car – an Audi Quattro, what else? – Arthur was presented with a pleasant Georgian street, uniform buildings of whitish-grey stone with wide windows that had those pointless fences around them on the ground floor. Gaius's surgery was on the top floor, the apartment he was coming to see – 221b Baker Street – on the first.

Ringing the front door rather than disturbing Gaius by buzzing the surgery, Arthur was admitted by the landlady, a small, greying woman who exuded good-intentioned fussiness.

"Hello, I'm Arthur. I've come to see the flat, Gaius might have said something?" She smiled warmly and cooed him into the hallway.

"Oh, hello dear! I'm just popping out to the, er, shops now, so you'll have to wait for a bit, but I'll be back soon. Go on up and have a chat with Gaius, his nephew's not back yet, we'll see what you both think of the place."  
>She smiled and wriggled into her coat. Arthur nodded, and went upstairs to Gaius's surgery.<p>

Arthur rapped on the frosted glass door.

"Ah, Arthur. Come in! Mrs. Hudson's popped out, I think."

The large room was double-height, extending up to the rafters. The waiting room consisted of some tasteful vintage screens shielding waiting patients from whatever was going on the surgery beyond.

Old books and surgical tools lined the shelves; one corner seemed entirely dedicated to medicine of bygone eras. Two little archways that Arthur knew led to a small storeroom and Gaius's bedroom/kitchenette were at the back of the room.

"My nephew will be back soon. Coffee?"

Arthur declined on the offer of coffee, knowing from past experience Gaius brewed it blacker than the eyes of Satan, without milk or sugar.

People never quite recovered from Gaius's coffee.

Mrs. Hudson reappeared shortly, clutching her handbag more tightly than was necessary.

As she furtively went to deal with whatever was causing her to keep such a tight hold on her bag, Arthur took a look around the flat.

It was a little dusty; eclectic, to say the least.

Arthur noted the spacious single bedroom, which he was pleased to note contained an exceedingly comfy four-poster, and was about to ask Mrs. Hudson about it when Gaius's nephew arrived.

**X**

Humming absentmindedly to himself, Merlin very nearly stumbled on the kerb outside 221b Baker Street as he frowned at the Audi Quattro parked outside.

Mrs. Hudson welcomed the boy with open arms, and he acquiesced to her French kiss.

"Come on up, Merlin, your friend's here, he's just taking a look around."  
>She dropped into a conspiratorial whisper. "He's ever so handsome!"<p>

The amateur detective shrugged and followed the landlady upstairs, stopping to hang his coat over the banister. Her voice reached his ears from downstairs.

"He's here now, Arthur. Merlin! He won't bite!" She turned back to Arthur. "He's such a shy young boy. But ever so bright! He figured out my granddaughter had-"

"Did you say _Merlin_?"  
>Mrs. Hudson ploughed on, not noticing Arthur's interruption and subsequent despair. "Turns out she had severe schizophrenia, that's why she killed all those people. He got her into a mental hospital rather than prison, isn't that great?"<br>At this point, Merlin appeared in the doorway, wearing his most ridiculous grin.

"It was so nice to have some good news after the business with my husband. Actually the young man who helped me with that wanted this flat as well but he couldn't find anyone to share it with. He looked a bit like you, Merlin, it was the cheekbones, I think. And the hair! But his was lovely and curly. Well, you two take a look around and I'll tell Gaius you're here, Merlin."

Mrs. Hudson shuffled out of the room, leaving Arthur and Merlin alone.

"Hello, Arthur."  
>"Hello, <em>Mer<em>lin."

"Now, now, there's no need to enunciate the first syllable quite so viciously, _Ar_thur."

Arthur growled, and made to punch his ebony-haired antagonist, only to find that there was an empty mug in the way, which he stepped on, landing in a sprawl at Merlin's feet.

At this moment Gaius entered with his omnipresent oil-black coffee, and shot Merlin a warning look at the sight of an undignified Arthur on his knees.

Merlin was hardly surprised to see Arthur here. Gaius had told him, after all. It would be so much fun teasing the princely prat.

Mrs. Hudson made a re-appearance as Arthur dusted himself off, deciding to be polite so Merlin wouldn't pick up on something and humiliate him with it.

"So, what do we think, boys?"

Merlin nodded. "This will do just fine, Mrs. Hudson. But it's down to Arthur."  
>There was just <em>something<em> about Merlin… Arthur couldn't find it in himself to hate the boy. He could quite easily not like him…

But he'd only been standing up for Leon, and Arthur _had_ been rude to them both. Besides, sharing a flat with someone so argumentative had to be entertaining, and it was probably the cheapest flat in Camelot. Money was tight, as always.

He shrugged. "Sure, I think I can put up with Merlin."  
>At least he didn't have to go to work with him.<p>

Mrs. Hudson smiled warmly and handed over a set of keys to each of them.

"I'd like the rent by the end of the month, and remember; I'm the landlady, not a housekeeper."

"Just one thing… there's only one bedroom?"

Mrs. Hudson suddenly looked embarrassed at Arthur's question. "Oh… Oh! I thought… maybe…"

Merlin raised an eyebrow in perfect synchronicity with his great-uncle.

The landlady cleared her throat. "There's the sofa-bed…"

Arthur clapped his hands together.

"Merlin can have that then. I'll take the four-poster."

**X**

"Arthur! Merlin! Visitors!"

It was that same evening when Arthur Pendragon and Merlin Ambrosius had moved into 221b Baker Street. Merlin had been staying in Gaius's storeroom upstairs. Arthur had steadfastly refused to help his new flatmate carry his things downstairs, preferring to watch as Merlin very nearly demolished Mrs. Hudson's grandson's watercolours on the way down, laden with books and bags and paraphernalia.

_How can he be so clumsy?_ It was a complete contrast to the precise, serious, and deft Merlin who Arthur had confronted in the alley a week ago.

Finally inside the flat, Merlin could topple safely, and topple he did, disappearing beneath musty tomes, a pair of holdalls, and a _skull_, as Arthur's father, Morgana, and her friend Gwen appeared in the doorway.

"Ow."

Commissioner Pendragon frowned as Merlin extricated himself from his possessions, only to slip again as he spun around and saw who was standing there.

Arthur rolled his eyes, and went to greet his father, while Morgana and Gwen fussed over Merlin.

Arthur caught a gleam of triumph in Morgana's eyes as she glanced at him, and he suddenly realised how she had so neatly manipulated him.

He wanted to groan.

Merlin, meanwhile, was going pink on the tips of his ears at receiving so much female attention, casting Arthur a 'help me' look.

Pleasantries exchanged, Uther apologised for stealing Merlin away from the ladies and dragged him out onto the landing.

As soon as he was gone, Arthur shot daggers at his sister, victory openly displayed on her face.

"You fell right into my trap, little _Arty_."

Arthur folded his arms.  
>"You knew, Morgana. Why didn't you tell me it was<em> him<em>?"

She shrugged.  
>"I don't see why it's a problem. You didn't have to move in with him."<p>

"I'm doing it because it's cheap and I can coerce him into cleaning up after me. What do you gain?"

Morgana smiled, completely evilly this time.

"The pleasure of seeing you suffer as he tears you to pieces with those deductive skills of his."  
>She glanced at Gwen, who was barely holding back a laughing fit.<p>

"_And_, we get an excuse to come over any time."

"You don't mean-"  
>"He's absolutely delicious, Arthur. Look at him!"<p>

Arthur did. His new flatmate was partly in view on the landing, scratching his head awkwardly and fidgeting profusely, giving the impression an ants nest was currently occupying his body.

Arthur raised his eyebrows.

"Seriously? Him?"

Morgana rolled her eyes.

"Just because _you_ look like a Greco-Roman statue, Arthur, doesn't mean there are other kinds of handsome."  
>"Have you seen those ears?" Arthur hissed.<p>

Gwen piped up, blushing a little.

"They're cute."

"He looks like he's on a permanent hunger strike!"

"Not everyone is blessed with your abs."

"Oh, so you think my abs are a blessing, Guinevere?"

Gwen blushed and shuffled uncomfortably, a touch of red seeping into her dark skin. Arthur had never noticed that before…

"Anyway," Morgana continued, "Don't tell me I can't, because I'm a responsible adult, just like you." She turned back to the jumble of Merlin's possessions and began to tidy them.

Arthur snorted.

"So you think if you pick up his books he'll just jump into your bed?"

"If they ask nicely."

Morgana and Gwen burst out laughing, as Merlin stepped past Arthur to help the two ladies with his things. Uther coughed, beckoning Arthur out onto the landing.

"Did you have anything to do with this, father?"

"No, of course not. I had no idea the boy was Gaius's nephew."  
>"Morgana set me up." Arthur groaned.<p>

"She did, and you fell for it. What did you do to her to make her set you up with a flatmate you don't like?"

Arthur shrugged.

"I don't know father, but she says it's an excuse to come and ogle Merlin."

Uther frowned.

"I'll have to have words with her."

Uther glanced disapprovingly at his stepdaughter, who had said something that had made Merlin's milky skin turn bright red.

"Anyway, I've spoken to Lestrade. Merlin is now officially working as a consultant."  
>Arthur visibly sagged.<p>

Dammit!

The cheap flat suddenly lost some of its appeal.

"I know you don't like him, Arthur, but the boy is a genius. It would be a shame to waste his talents."  
>"He wasn't being wasted when I didn't have to be… anywhere near him when he was helping Lestrade!"<p>

"My decision is final. In any case, this arrangement is more convenient. You don't have to drive anywhere to pick him up."  
>Arthur was aghast. What was his father suggesting?<br>"What?"  
>"You're partners, now. Arthur, the decision is final. Merlin is just the thing you need to get your career going."<p>

With that, Uther swept regally downstairs. Morgana noticed, tapped Gwen on the arm, bade Merlin goodbye, and followed, leaving Arthur rueing the day he ever crossed paths with Merlin Ambrosius.

**X**

Partners? With Arthur?

Oooh, this could be fun.  
>Merlin didn't hate Arthur, exactly, just resented his behaviour, which was hardly fitting for a detective.<p>

It wasn't in Merlin's nature to antagonise or behave badly to anyone, but Arthur could do with kicking down a notch.

"So you think if you pick up his books he'll just jump right into your bed?"  
>Merlin grinned impishly.<p>

"If they ask nicely."  
>A grimacing Arthur was summoned imperiously by his father, leaving Merlin with Gwen and Morgana, who were beside themselves with laughter.<p>

Morgana wiped a tear from her eye.  
>"The two of you are going to hate each other with a passion or be the best of friends."<br>"Right now, I think it's the former."

"Arthur will come round eventually," Gwen smiled, "He's a rough tough, save the world kind of guy, but he has it in him be a good man."

"Hmm. That explains the Quattro."

The three of them chuckled. Morgana placed a hand on Merlin's arm, surreptitiously handing him a piece of paper.

"If he gives you any trouble, there's my number."  
>Merlin turned bright red and thrust his hands behind his back.<p>

Morgana gave him one last pat on the head, and strode out after her father, trailing Gwen behind.

Arthur sighed deeply.

"Hey."

"What, _Mer_lin? I'm not looking forwards to working with you any more than you are with me."

"No, it's not that."

"What is it then?"

"Your sister gave me her number."

Morgana was surprised, to say the least, that Merlin had called her to say that Arthur was trying to strangle him before she had even got into her father's car.

_**A/N; **__Hmm… not entirely sure where to go from here._

_I won't ask for or coerce reviews from anyone on philosophical grounds, but it's nice to get some._


	6. I Am Not Asking You To Bed Him

It was two weeks since the move-in.

Somehow, _somehow_, Merlin and Arthur were still in the same flat and working together.

Gaius thought it was a miracle.

Uther was oblivious to the antagonistic relationship.

Morgana and Gwen were hardly out of the 221b Baker Street, intent on unwrapping the skinny amateur detective's clothes with their eyes.

Mrs. Hudson just patted the two on the head fondly and ignored their spats, putting it down to a lover's quarrel.

And yet, despite the thunderous arguments, throwing of things, and impromptu wrestling – "Anyone would think I'm irresistible the way you keep jumping at me, Arthur." – they were alive, tolerating each other, and happier than they had been in some time, though neither would confess to it.

The first seeds of friendship were sown. But it would take an unlikely intervention to make them grow strong.

**X**

"Go away, Merlin." Arthur muttered, so near to sleep and at the same extant from that blissful state he sought.

But it wasn't Merlin calling him.

_Arthur…_

It was a voice that could not be ignored, that had to be heeded, rich and deep and old and wise and knowing and so much more.

Were Arthur like his father he likely would have jumped out of bed with a cry of 'SORCERY!' and taken some sleeping pills. But Arthur felt, despite his drowsy state, that whatever this voice wanted was important. _Really_ important. Significant. Paramount. Imperative. Vit-

_Arthur…_

"Alright, I'm coming!" He hissed, scrabbling out of the covers and fumbling in the dark for some clothing. Whatever the voice wanted, it was more important than getting suitably dressed; that voice would drag him to it naked if it had to.

With rumpled jeans and shirt on, Arthur went in search of his shoes and coat.

Merlin wasn't in the sofa-bed, but it looked like he had been; but then again, he'd made his stamp on the front room, cluttering up the tables and never making his bed, books everywhere.

Come to think of it, Arthur had never seen him in a bed, or asleep. Or eating, for that matter.

But it didn't matter. Something was calling him.

Summoning a passing taxi, Arthur realised he hadn't a single clue where he was going. Without thinking, he said "The castle."

_The castle? Who could possibly want me at the castle?_

Soon enough, the grey towers of Camelot castle rose above him; this was an ancient place, and much like the Old Town of Camelot, it had somehow survived without modernisation or re-design; the castle was the very heart of Camelot, the oldest thing in the city, probably the oldest continually used structure in the world. No-one could say how old it was.

As in the taxi, Arthur had no idea what he was supposed to do; the portcullis was open, so he went through it, into the courtyard.

Steps?

Up the steps it is.

Down?

Down we go!

Dungeons?

Apparently so.

What's this?

Arthur almost ran into a peeling metal door marked 'Caretaker'.

Cautiously, he twisted the handle. This was where he was supposed to be.

But what could the caretaker of the castle possibly want with him? And how had he managed to persuade Arthur to come down here?

Once again, Arthur felt that compelling push on his mind to which resistance was futile.

The office was empty. Really empty. There was a chair, and a broom. Other than that, nothing.

This might have had something to do with the fact that the room was really concealing a tunnel. Arthur warily approached the tunnel mouth, pocket torch in hand; the voice might be pressing for urgency, but Arthur wasn't prone to simply running into a dark tunnel because a creepy voice told him to.

Dust and cobwebs, stones and tombs; finally, so deep that Arthur could only think of it as the bowels' bowels, the tunnel abruptly ended, and a vast cavern stretching into darkness in every direction greeted him.

He wasn't alone.

"Do not be afraid, young Pendragon."

A dragon. A dragon. A bloody massive scaly fire breathing monster and ohmygod-

"You have nothing to fear from me."

And Arthur realised he didn't.

"Uh…"

Huge, golden eyes regarding him with a twinkle of humour, glittering brightly among scales coruscating in the torchlight.

"Yes, young Pendragon?"

"You're…"  
>"I am the Great Dragon, and I have summoned you here to tell you of your destiny."<p>

Overcoming his shock for a moment, Arthur managed to ask, "Destiny?"

"Yes, young Pendragon." The Dragon nodded sagely. "You have a part to play in the fate of the world."  
>"Hold on a minute. You're a dragon, in a cave, that no-one knows about, and I'm just supposed to go along with whatever you tell me?"<br>"It does not matter what you choose to do after this meeting; your destiny will come about regardless of the choices you make."  
>"Then why do I need to be here if it's going to happen anyway?"<br>"Because this meeting was destined so that the next step of your destiny could unfold!"

"So if I never came here my destiny would never happen?"

The Dragon roared with impatience, rearing it's head back and scorching the air.

Arthur shut up.

"Now, young Pendragon."  
>The Dragon settled down on it's little outcropping, leaning toward Arthur.<p>

"Your destiny and that of young Merlin are inextricably entwined-"  
>"What?"<p>

"-and together, you will bring about a new golden age in Albion."

"Merlin?"

The Dragon ploughed on, heedless.

"But things are different this time; before Merlin can help you, you must help him. He must come to terms with himself and his skills and accept them. Only you can help him do that."

"But… he hates me! I hate him!"

"You do not. You know it. It is plainly written on your heart, and I have read it."

"I think I need to sit down…"

The Dragon regarded Arthur with a cocked head as he digested this new revelation. He had to actually become friends with Merlin! It was his destiny… unless this dragon was completely insane, having been cooped up down in this cave for goodness knows how long.

"You know my words are true, young Pendragon."

Arthur sighed.

"It's impossible!" He shouted, out of obstinacy, "I can never be friends with Merlin!"

The Dragon sighed.  
>"You can, and you will. I am not asking you to bed him, merely befriend him."<p>

"That's disgusting! Who would want to… _have sex _with _Mer_lin?"

"Your sister Morgana, evidently."

Arthur's jaw clanged against the stone. Spluttering indignantly, the young Pendragon stormed from the cavern.

**X**

Seething at the cheek of the Great Dragon, Arthur stormed out of the dungeons, irritation only increased when he realised he was covered in cobwebs.

And then he heard them.

"I think I heard something over here!"

Arthur pressed himself into an alcove and prayed that no-one would find him.

The son of the Commissioner, a good policeman in his own right, caught breaking into the castle? His father would die of embarrassment.

_Stupid stupid stupid stupid!_

Of course, as soon as he had opened that door to get inside, he had set off a silent alarm summoning the police! Damn.

The footsteps stopped at the end of the corridor that branched into this one, and came towards his alcove.

Suddenly they stopped, and there came the sound of unconscious policemen hitting the stone flags.

A quiet, almost inaudible padding replaced them.

"Hello, prat."

Arthur all but jumped out of his skin, spinning to face Merlin, who had seemingly appeared out of nowhere.

"_Merlin?_" Arthur hissed.

Merlin rolled his eyes.

"I'm here to save you, clodpole, now let's get out before I have to set something on fire."

"What?"

Merlin motioned to the two sleeping policemen lying insensate in the corridor.

"I'd rather not use magic again." The raven-haired detective did a double-take. "Arthur, you're going to trip over your jaw at this rate."

Arthur pressed his face into his hands.

"So that's what the Dragon meant…"

"You're taking this remarkably well. Now hurry up."

Merlin flitted down the hallway, grubby coat flapping behind him. Arthur tried to focus on the slight coat envy that rose up rather than the revelation that Merlin was a _sorcerer_.

"As soon as we get back to Baker Street, Merlin, you're telling me everything."

His fellow escapee glanced mischievously over one shoulder as he slipped through another door.

"No wrestling me to the floor and telling me I'm an obnoxious, incompetent idiot?"

"Can we talk about this when we're not in danger of being arrested?"

**X**

Merlin easily distracted the allegedly vigilant officers standing by the squad cars in the courtyard, and the two fled like vagabonds.

At the bottom of the hill, they turned to look back at how far they had run, and from what. The cerulean pulse of the blues n' twos eerily illuminated the courtyard and the turrets around it, little figures of policemen running to and fro in search of whoever had broken into Camelot castle.

Merlin turned to Arthur.

Arthur turned to Merlin.

They both burst out laughing.

"So, Merlin… you're a…"  
>"Whatever happened to 'let's talk about this back at Baker Street'?"<p>

"Shut up, Merlin."

The two of them stared at each other for a while, until they could hold back their smiles no longer.

"Prat."  
>"Idiot."<p>

"Clodpole."

"Shut up, Merlin!"

The two grinning detectives began the long walk to Baker Street.

"Why aren't you throwing me in front of your father?" Merlin asked, puzzled, glancing at his colleague, and – dare he say it? – _friend_.

Arthur shrugged.

"I barely know you, Merlin, but you're not evil enough to go around hurting people with your powers. You don't deserve what would happen to you."  
>"I never thought I'd hear you say something like that."<br>"Don't get used to it."

"After what you put me through, I'm just glad for _that_."

Arthur drew back his arm.

Merlin ran.

Arthur ran after him.

And unbeknownst to either of them, the world shifted a little bit, the equilibrium of the universe becoming just that bit more _equal_, for destiny's second attempt had truly begun.

And this time, things would be different.

_**A/N;**__ Well, well, well. It's done. For now. A seekwul will be along sooner or later, I expect, so watch out for further adventures of Merlin and Arthur.  
>Thank you to all those who reviewed, and thank you to all those who didn't, but read this little thing anyway.<em>

_Farewell!_

_- Doc'_


	7. Foreshadowing And Milk

_**A/N: **__So after a bit I thought I could do with a little epilogue to clear up Arthur's feelings and set up possibilities for a sequel. Ergo, this. Enjoy._

Merlin.

Magic.

Two words Arthur had never associated with each other in his short – and rapidly blooming – friendship with the young warlock-detective.

But he had seen it with his own eyes; Merlin had opened doors with flick of his finger, sent men to sleep with a muttered word, disabled alarms with a glare; Arthur had seen all this, and strangely, he had accepted it.

Trudging back to 221b Baker Street through the lightest of evening drizzles, Arthur realised why.

Firstly, Merlin wasn't evil.

Arthur had never quite understood why his father was so insistent on the 'magic is evil' thing; he simple did not believe that you could label a single demographic in such a way. After all, not all Jamaican men could run a hundred metres in under ten seconds; not all Americans were morbidly obese; and not _everyone _who wore a tracksuit _everywhere_ insisted on carrying a knife and behaving disreputably.

There was no doubt that magic could be used for evil; the very day he had met Merlin a group of shoppers had been ensorcelled into tearing each other to bloody scraps, the worst magical attack in Albion for years. The culprit remained at large, but a month later Uther was still prowling around the station, constantly vigilant. The Commissioner had put down Merlin's nerves around him simply down to the fact he was a very intimidating man; Arthur knew better. The Commissioner could not be trusted to see reason where magic was involved. If he ever found out his son was living with a sorcerer – no matter how obviously not-evil – Uther would almost certainly – try to – kill Merlin, regardless of the law, and Arthur felt he would rather follow his new friend into oblivion than watch his father take Merlin to pieces and then endure the kind of terrifying verbal haranguing that could cave in the Dragon's vault, and likely shake the rest of Albion to its core.

Finally, after years of silently questioning his father's words and the law, Arthur had proof. Proof that magic was only as bad as the person who wielded it.

And when someone as kind and brave, loyal and moral as Merlin had control over the power of magic, there was no question who was wrong; magic was not evil, and one day, the ridiculous laws Uther had pushed through would be repealed.

Secondly, he couldn't _that _dangerous.

And Arthur would _never_ admit it while he still drew breath, but Merlin was the first true friend he had ever had.

**X**

Pint of milk in one hand and lost in his thoughts, Arthur never noticed the sleek, expensive car pull up beside him.

"Mister Pendragon?"

Arthur snapped out of his reverie at the silky intonation of his name.

Warily, the young detective peered into the back of the car; a woman at least a few years older than him stared back, chocolate orbs set in a perfect face framed by lavish blonde tresses.

"May we drive you home, Mister Pendragon?"

The elegant, beautiful woman smiled warmly at him; Arthur couldn't decide whether to get in, or run from the predatory look she fixed him with.

"What do you want?" Arthur asked bluntly.

The woman's smile grew wider, friendlier.

"I'd like to talk to you about Morgana."  
>Where his adopted sister was concerned, Arthur couldn't help but play big brother. He decided on mistrust, but resolved to get in the car and find out what this was all about.<p>

Sit.

Slam.

Drive.

After a few tense moments, Arthur broke the silence.

"What do you want with Morgana?"

**X**

Arthur got out of the car, utterly bewildered, ignoring the farewell of the mysterious, elegant woman seated in her expensive, chauffeured car.

She had never really answered his question; all she had requested was that he keep her updated on what Morgana was doing; who her friends were, where she went, what she talked about.

Arthur flat-out refused, regardless of how large the envelopes wafted seductively under his nose were. With each offer the brown, note-stuffed paper packages became exponentially larger, until she may as well have given him a briefcase for all the money she waved at him.

Morgause scowled at the detective's retreating back, a beautiful – if terrifying – action for a beautiful – if terrifying – woman, and flicked her fingers displeasureably at her chauffeur.

The sleek vehicle vanished into the gloomy Camelotian evening.

**X**

Merlin heard the front door slam, and instinctively stopped mopping the floor, tidying the kitchen, and making cups of tea with magic while poring over his grimoire at the kitchen table.

As soon as he heard the thumping, grumpy tread, he began again. He was in no danger.  
>It was Arthur's Thinking Walk, for when he was furious or thinking <em>really hard<em>. Often both.

Sighing, the grumpy warlock magicked a second mug from the rack and prepared himself for the inevitable onslaught of Arthur's grumpiness.

His flatmate threw his coat onto Merlin's – unmade – sofa-bed, a little harder than was necessary, and slammed the milk down onto the kitchen table, giving the magic-assisted chores going on the barest glance.

The blonde detective threw himself into his boxy, modernist leather armchair by the fireplace and began to bore a hole in the cabinet that held the TV with his withering stare.

A steaming mug levitated over to a heavily distracted Arthur, who snatched it out of the air, gratefully slurping the milky, life-giving liquid within.

"You left the teabag in, you idiot!"  
>Merlin looked up from his spell book, a mock-frown creasing his forehead.<p>

"So it's fine if I fly it over to you but a felony to leave the bag in?"

Arthur sighed wearily, running a hand over his face, and looked at the concerned magical detective through the veil of steam wafting into his eyes.

"I'm still not going to send you to Azkaban or leave you at the mercy of my father, if that's what you're thinking."

Merlin raised an eyebrow as he took a slurp of his own, coal-black coffee.

"Remind me why that is, again?"

Arthur snorted.

"Because, Merlin, you're completely harmless. Any sorcerer can do what you did, no offence. I don't think you have the power to _really_ hurt anyone, or the inclination."

He kept the other reason, _Because you're already the best friend I've ever had and I can't lose you so soon,_ to himself.

Arthur resumed staring at the wall, anger dissipating into thin air like the steam from his tea.

Had he kept his eyes on his warlock friend he would have seen a terrible look cross Merlin's face. For a brief, terrible moment, Merlin looked old and careworn, burnt out and haunted, broken by some terrible thing he had done. His frown became genuine, and the light wrinkles creasing his forehead were suddenly mountainous. His eyes briefly became distant and ancient, old before their time, as though the young man had lived a thousand lives and seen and done more than any other man could hope to accomplish.

Fortunately, Arthur did not see the haunted look that crossed Merlin's countenance.

He wasn't ready for that side of Merlin yet.

**X**

"You should have taken the money." Merlin stated, bluntly.

Arthur looked at him, baffled. His warlock friend rolled his eyes, and continued.

"You would have been able to get back in touch with her, find out who she is, what she's about, why she's so interested in Morgana. Besides, it wouldn't hurt to be able to pay the rent without working for a few months, if she was offering as much as you said she was."

Merlin smiled smugly, draining the rest of his mug and setting it down on the side-table next to his own squashy arm-chair.

"For such an honourable person, Merlin, you can be horribly pragmatic."  
>Merlin shook his head, grinning.<p>

"I'm not honourable, Arthur, I'm just too nice for my own good."

Arthur grinned back.

"One day, Merlin, being nice to someone will be your downfall."  
>"Well, I know that my downfall won't be you, prat." He shot back.<p>

Arthur growled, and lunged at Merlin.

The two of them landed in a quivering heap of tangled mirth, laughing raucously.

At that moment, Mrs. Hudson poked her head around the door, and tottered inside, clearing her throat to catch the attention of the mirthful young men.

"Erm, Arthur, that was your father on the phone… Arthur?"

Slowly, Arthur and Merlin extricated themselves from each other's limbs, wiping away tears of laughter.

"What about my father, Mrs. Hudson?" Arthur glanced at Merlin, and bit back another laughing fit.

"He was in a bit of a rush, something about a magical illness doing the rounds near the castle… something about the water?"

The two detectives shared a look.

"Coming?" Arthur asked, picking up his coat.

"Always." Merlin grinned, swinging his own grubby trenchcoat around his thin frame, following Arthur out into the Camelotian evening, and to a new case to crack.

_**A/N; **__Well, well, well, new Merlin tonight. I would be excited for it, but I'm just not that kind of person. _

_So there you have it._

_Part 1 of my 'Merlock' series is finally in a state of satisfactory completion-ness._

_I already think I can guess what the sequel will be…_


End file.
